


Five in the Morning, the Night Before The World Ended

by Psythe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dersecest I guess, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, hahaha you thought this was just mildly ominous fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:13:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2053125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psythe/pseuds/Psythe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="rose">TT: Dave.</span>
  <br/>
  <span class="dave">TG: sorry</span>
  <br/>
  <span class="dave">TG: its just</span>
  <br/>
  <span class="dave">TG: fuck</span>
  <br/>
  <span class="dave">TG: rose i thought we won</span>
  <br/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thirty-Seven Years Later

_this isn't fair who decides_

_if a miracle survives_

_so close to start, so careful then_

_[i cannot go through this again](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64_1AAaKdRo)_  

 

 

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 5:23 -- 

 

TT: Dave.   
TT: We need to talk.   
TG: hey old woman   
TG: where the fuck have you been   
TG: its been like two days or two years or something   
TG: you havent even gotten online and switched your status with some wordy away message that you obviously had to retype about twelve times before it would fit into the status field   
TG: also its literally five in the fucking morning   
TG: whats up   
TT: Dave.   
TT: Please, for the love of God, for once in your life.   
TT: Shut up.   
TG: whoa   
TG: been wondering for about thirty years when you were gonna say that to me   
TG: there was a pool going for a while   
TG: karkat lost back when we got married   
TG: what cosmic lovecraftian bees lodged itself in your gothy bonnet   
TT: Dave.   
TT: It's starting again.   
TG: what   
TG: a new pool   
TG: shit i gotta get in on it   
TG: whats it about   
TT: Everyone dies.   
TG: wait what   
TT: In almost precisely forty days, the lives of almost every person on this planet begin to end. After forty-one, they are all gone.   
TG: how do you know   
TT: I have attempted to predict their fates. After that point, all attempts fail.   
TT: I have experimented exhaustively.   
TT: Dave, they die in fire, with spatial anomalies appearing throughout the solar system on the news, with meteors raining from the sky.   
TT: It is starting again.   
TT: Dave?   
TT: Dave?   
TG: jesus fucking shit rose   
TG: rose i thought we were done with this   
TG: youve been wrong before   
TT: I have misinterpreted details before. I have tried to think of any other possible way to interpret this. If you have a suggestion, I would very dearly enjoy hearing it.   
TG: fuck   
TG: this is some top shelf grade a farm fresh humanely raised military grade bullshit   
TG: so what do we do   
TT: ... I don't know.   
TT: We need to talk. You need to come home.   
TG: ill call terezi   
TT: Good. I will contact Kanaya.   
TG: shit lessee gonna have to dig out the secret email to get in touch with bro   
TG: uh   
TG: whoa   
TT: Dave?   
TG: one sec   
TG: you got any idea where aradia is   
TT: No. I have not heard from her in years. Nobody has.   
TG: well find that heterochromatic main squeeze of hers, maybe he knows   
TT: That will be difficult. Last I heard he was living as a hermit on the other side of the Atlantic.   
TG: goddamnit   
TG: i forgot how hard this always is   
TT: What is this about?   
TG: i just called my room   
TT ...   
TG: and i told me that im gonna jump forward and try and figure out if we can fix this   
TG: but if i dont put my head together with another time player first something really really really bad is gonna happen   
TG: i said it that way too   
TG: three reallys   
TG: so i guess that means its three times as bad as i thought   
TG: and i was already thinking of doing that   
TG: guess i just have perfect timing, as usual   
TG: damn im good   
TT: I would ask if you were aware of that lamentable pun, but I am almost afraid to know.   
TG: thats cause youre a wise old lady rose   
TG: ancient and learned in the secrets of the universe   
TG: youve gazed into the beyond   
TG: known things man was not meant to know   
TG: and one day thank god you looked into your occult telescope with its lens carved out of glass harvested from a beach on a noneuclidean planet   
TG: looked out into the furthest ring   
TG: looked into the eye of some unknowable fucking thing with way too many of em   
TG: actually its probably just one big eye   
TG: i think thats more fucked up   
TG: and you said to it   
TG: 'i am rose lalonde, super hot seer of light'   
TG: 'i have drawn the ancient sigils with my evil purple negachalk'   
TG: 'i have lit the ritual fire and offered you a single tear shed by an angel and the sound of doves crying and a cup thats both half full and half empty and a savvy and intelligent remark uttered by jake english and the only straight answer terezi pyrope ever gave anyone'   
TG: 'explain to me how to tell whether a super hot funny strider dude is being ironic or not'   
TG: and flthuluthotep raised its infinite eyebrow at you   
TG: and this gigantic fuckoff horrorterror beyond the comprehension of any mortal being opened its mouth that can swallow galaxies and was like   
TG: 'girl'   
TG: 'even we dont know that'   
TG: 'slow down before you hurt yourself'   
TT: Yes, Dave. That is exactly what happened.   
TG: nailed it   
TT: I love you.   
TG: i love you too   
TG: ill be home soon   
TG: fuck me rose   
TG: not literally   
TG: though thats not a bad idea either   
TG: were probably not gonna have much time if youre right   
TT: Dave.   
TG: sorry   
TG: its just   
TG: fuck   
TG: rose i thought we won   
TT: So did I, Dave.   
TT: So did I.


	2. One Day and Twelve Hours Later

 

_And is it worth the wait_  
  
 _All this killing time?_  
  
 _Are you strong enough to stand_  
  
 _[Protecting both your heart and mine?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SK6U4FiAoAs)_

  

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering conservativeCounsellor [CC] at 5:08 --

TG: all rise for the honourable legislacerator   
CC: TH3 L3G1SL4C3R4TOR 4CKNOWL3DG3S TH3 COOLK1D W1TH TH3 D3L3CT4BL3 CH3RRY P13 FL4VOR3D T3XT  
CC: H3 M4Y 4PPRO4CH TH3 B3NCH, THUS M4K1NG 1T POSS1BL3 FOR H1S TYR4NNY TO S33 W1THOUT H1S F4C14LLY-MOUNT3D CORR3CT1V3 L3NS 4RM4TUR3 TH4T H3 1S NO LONG3R L3G4LLY QU4L1F13D TO B3 CONS1D3R3D 4 'COOLK1D'  
CC: H1S 1RON1C ST4TUS MUST B3 OFF1C14LLY CH4NG3D TO 'COOLR4P1DLYLOS1NGS1GHTOFHUM4NM1DDL34G3' B3FOR3 H3 H4S 4NY R1GHTS 1N TH1S COURTROOM  
TG: okay i gotta ask  
TG: do you actually call little old bald judges with lame comb overs and liver spots 'his tyranny'  
CC: Y3S  
TG: cool  
TG: oh man judge judy is so the earth incarnation of his tyranny  
TG: how is she not dead yet  
TG: and hey fuck you  
TG: there aint never been a strider who didnt age like a fine wine  
CC: TRU3  
CC: 1 M34N H4V3 YOU SM3LL3D TH4T LUSUS OF YOURS?  
CC: SO DR34MY  
CC: TH4T B34T1FULLY D3F1N3D BON3 STRUCTUR3  
CC: TH4T ON1ON 4ND FR13D POT4TO H41R  
CC: TH4T B4NK 4CCOUNT  
CC: *SWOOON*  
TG: well im gonna have to disconnect now and just call you  
TG: damn shame  
TG: i may never type again with what these burns have done to my fingers  
CC: 4DM1TT1NG D3F34T, D4VE?  
CC: SH4M3FUL  
CC: 1T 1S UNB3COM1NG OF 4 STRIDER  
CC: WHY D1D YOU TROLL M3, 4NYW4Y, 1NST34D OF C4LL1NG  
TG: seemed appropriate  
TG: i mean im no seer or mage or whatever but i know whats what and what feels right  
TG: this is where this whole clusterfuck started  
TG: on shitty irc chat programs  
TG: just fitting that we go around and complete the circle  
TG: like a stable time loop of buggy piece of shit software  
CC: WH4T DO YOU M34N?  
TG: you gotta come to chicago  
CC: 1 WOND3R3D WH3N YOU WOULD 1NV1T3 M3  
CC: WHY NOW, D4V3  
CC: 1 THOUGHT YOU W3R3 4 H4PP1LY M4T3SP1R1T3D COOLK1D  
TG: shut the fuck up  
TG: god fucking damn it terezi  
TG: this is what i get for humoring you  
TG: glue your fucking fangs together and listen to me  
TG: rose is having visions  
TG: a new session is gonna start  
TG: we got a little more than a month  
TG: thats it  
TG: no bullshit  
TG: no irony  
TG: no april fools  
TG: trust me first thing i did was look at the calendar  
TG: we got forty days till the end of the world and we gotta find everyone else and figure out what to do  
TG: and we need all seers on deck  
TG: rose is scared  
TG: first time ive ever seen her scared  
TG: and i cant do anything about it  
TG: im just a knight  
TG: all i got is a pair of sweet shades and a really long health vial and a sword i aint used in three decades  
TG: she needs another seer to talk to or shes gonna really actually genuinely lose her shit  
TG: so get your unfairly well aging seer behind up to chicago and help her field this one  
TG: i know you can come  
TG: youve never taken a day off in your life you must have like ten years of paid leave saved up  
TG: any of this getting through  
CC: SO 1TS F1N4LLY H4PP3N1NG  
TG: what  
CC: TH3 N3XT S3SS1ON  
CC: TH3 N3XT TURN OF TH3 WH33L  
CC: 1T W4S 1N3V1T4BL3  
TG: what the fuck are you talking about  
TG: did you know this was going to happen  
CC: OF COURS3 1 D1D  
CC: 4ND SO D1D YOU  
CC: W3 4LL KN3W, D33P DOWN  
CC: 4NYON3 WHO PL4Y3D TH3 G4M3 WOULD KNOW  
CC: P4R4DOX SP4C3 MUST PROP4G4T3 1TS3LF  
CC: W3 M4D3 YOUR UN1V3RS3, FL4W3D THOUGH 1T W4S  
CC: TH3 G4M3 C4M3 TO 1T  
CC: TH3N, 1N 4 ROUND4BOUT F4SH1ON, YOU M4D3 TH1S UN1V3RS3  
CC: W3 CONTR1BUT3D TO TH3 D3S1GN, OF COURS3, BUT 1T W4S YOU 4ND J4D3 TH4T BR3D TH3 FROG  
CC: YOU TH4T 34RN3D TH3 R1GHT TO BU1LD 1T  
CC: 4ND NOW TH3 G4M3 H4S COM3 TO TH1S UN1V3RS3, 4S 1T C4M3 TO TH1S UN1V3RS3'S 4NC3STOR 4ND TH4T ON3'S 4NC3STOR B3FOR3 1T  
CC: SK414 1S 1ND1SCR1M1N4T3  
CC: 4LL UN1V3RS3S 4R3 S1MPLY POT3NT14L 1NCUB4TORS  
CC: F3RT1L3 GROUND  
CC: YOU KN3W TH1S, D4V3  
TG: yeah  
TG: i guess i did  
TG: i guess i just never wanted to think about it  
TG: seemed unfair with what we went through to get it done  
TG: we didnt get to enjoy it for long did we  
CC: BURGUNDYBLOODS H4V3 4LR34DY B33N H4TCH3D 4ND 3XP1R3D OF N4TUR4L C4US3S 1N TH3 T1M3 W3 H4V3 L1V3D H3R3, D4V3  
TG: never thought of that  
TG: doesnt really make me feel better  
TG: so are you coming or what  
CC: OF COURS3 1 W1LL COM3  
CC: BUT WH4T C4N W3 4CCOMPL1SH BY M33T1NG?  
CC: 1F TH3 S33R OF L1GHT H4S FOR3S33N 1T, 1T W1LL COM3 TO P4SS, B4RR1NG TH3 CR34T1ON OF 4 DOOM3D T1M3L1N3  
CC: OR OTH3R SH3N4N1G4NS  
TG: dunno yet really  
TG: were trying to find sollux and aradia so we can actually know whats going to happen  
TG: im thinkin maybe we can find the new players  
TG: help them out a little so they dont fuck up like we did in our sessions and break the game or make it too hard for themselves  
CC: H4V3 YOU LOOK3D FORW4RD Y3T?  
CC: YOUR POW3R 1S MOR3 R3L14BL3 TH4N 4NY S33RS V1S1ON  
TG: you keep sayin that but i still dont buy it  
TG: man how fucked up would a seer of time be  
TG: holy shit  
TG: that would be some hellified kind of ungodly psychofeedback clusterfuck  
TG: seeing every timeline at once  
TG: even the doomed ones  
TG: like youd close your eyes at night and itd look like the last panel of every sbahj strip ever  
TG: or like that anniversary one i did where it literally crashed peoples browsers the same frame was repeated so many times  
TG: man  
TG: that was great  
TG: anyway no not yet  
TG: theres some time loops already in play  
TG: i got it on good authority that both aradia and i gotta go or its gonna be bad  
CC: 1NT3R3ST1NG  
CC: WHY?  
TG: dunno yet  
CC: STR4NG3  
TG: hey  
TG: future daves dont lie  
TG: youre the one taught me that  
TG: im gonna call jade when i get home  
CC: 1S TH4T W1S3?  
TG: probably not  
TG: dont care  
TG: she deserves to know  
TG: probably doesnt want to but she deserves it  
TG: and if shes in she can start beaming people up and make this a lot easier  
TG: anyway pack your shit  
CC: 1 W1LL  
CC: 1 H4V3 M1SS3D YOU  
TG: yeah, i know  
TG: so hows the high powered washington legislacerator thing going  
CC: W3 C4LL TH3M 'L4WY3RS' H3R3  
CC: SUCH 4N UN1MPR3SS1V3 N4M3 FOR SUCH 4 THR1LL1NG OCCUP4T1ON  
CC: WHY D1DNT YOU 3V3R T3LL M3?  
TG: tell you what  
CC: HOW 3XC1T1NG 1T 1S  
CC: H4V1NG 4N OPPON3NT 1N TH3 COURTROOM  
TG: oh yeah  
TG: you didnt have defendants back in trolloslovakia  
TG: or i guess you did but they were more like target practice than defendants  
TG: wait so what the fuck did legislacerators actually do  
CC: W3 HUNT3D DOWN TH3 4CCUS3D  
CC: OBV1OUSLY 4LT3RN14N JUST1C3 W4S 1NF4LL1BL3  
CC: 4NYON3 WHO 3SC4P3D TH3 L3G1SL4C3R4TORS T4LONS W4S CL34RLY 1NNOC3NT 4ND THUS 3XON3R4T3D  
TG: wow  
TG: you literally had medieval witch trials for a justice system  
TG: just with heavily armed dapper as fuck midlevel civil servants instead of throwing dudes into lakes  
TG: his honorable tyranny increase mather  
TG: thats so stupid its actually kind of hilarious  
CC: >:[  
TG: sorry  
TG: that was me being a dick  
CC: YOU 4R3 FORG1V3N  
TG: no really  
TG: im sorry about that  
TG: i know that shit mattered to you  
CC: 1T 1S F1N3, D4V3  
CC: OPPOS1NG 4 D3F3ND1NG L4WY3R 1S SO 3XH1L4R4T1NG  
CC: TO H4V3 4 GU4RD14N ST4ND B3TW33N YOU 4ND YOUR PR3Y 4ND TRY, HOW3V3R FUT1L3 TH3 3FFORT, TO K33P TH3M FROM YOUR GR1P  
CC: BOUND BY DUTY TO CONT1NU3 TH31R DOOM3D D3F3NS3 3V3N WH3N TH3Y KNOW TH4T TH31R CH4RG3 1S GU1LTY  
CC: TH3R3 1S NO W4RR1OR NOBL3R TH4N TH3 ST4T3 4PPO1NT3D D3F3NS3 4TTORN3Y, D4V3  
CC: 4ND TH3R3 1S NO FORM OF B4TTL3F13LD PUR3R TH4N TH3 COURT C4S3 1N WH1CH TO F4C3 ON3  
CC: 1T 1S L1K3 4 N3W K1SM3S1S1TUD3 1S BORN 4ND TH3N STR4NGL3D 1N 3V3RY C4S3  
CC: 1T 1S  
CC: D3C4D3NT  
TG: so youre like a blackrom slut  
TG: thats what that means right  
TG: youre like the spadesmance equivalent of the secretary who sleeps with every dude and most of the chicks in the office  
CC: >: P  
TG: youre feeling up all those innocent defense lawyers with your hategaze every day  
TG: undressing them with your pitch eyeballs  
TG: youre a disgrace pyrope  
TG: you should be disbarred on account of troll romance being gross and weird  
CC: YOUR WORDS 4R3 D3L1C1OUS, BUT 4S 1 L1CK, 1 D1SSOLV3 TH3 CH3RRY CO4T1NG 4ND T4ST3 ONLY 4 HOLLOW 1NT3R1OR  
CC: YOU C4NNOT H4RM M3 W1TH YOUR P4TH3T1C BURNS, COOLK1D  
CC: 1 H4V3 FOUND MY C4LL1NG 1N YOUR 34RTH COURTS  
CC: YOUR F1R3S H4V3 GROWN W34K 4ND UNS1CK  
CC: M4T3SP1R1TSH1P H4S M4D3 YOU SOFT  
CC: 1 B3T YOU 4R3 F4T  
CC: W1LL YOU DO TH3 TRUFFL3 SHUFFL3 FOR M3, D4V3?  
TG: nope  
TG: only my wife gets to see the truffle shuffle  
TG: see you this weekend

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] has ceased pestering conservativeCounsellor [CC] at 5:24 --

 

* * *

Kaz was not happy when you ducked out, but Kaz is pretty much never happy.    

This is one of the many serious occupational hazards that come with the position of being Dave Strider's personal assistant. It's in the disclaimer that all applicants to the job are required to watch. The disclaimer is read by you, in the style of an overdramatic commercial for a prescription drug, complete with random clips of happy couples in gorgeous backyards on ludicrously sunny summer days playing with giggling grandchildren and Labradors that look like they were bred in a secret government facility devoted to producing the most adorable dogs that could be conceived by super-science while the applicants listen to you explain that you are lackadaisical, flippant, impolite, irresponsible, infuriating, incapable of taking anything seriously, and just overall a terrible person to have for a boss. Working for Scratch Records comes with a non-zero risk of severe stress, anxiety, paranoia, existential crises, fourth degree verbal burns, and random hallway strifing. Pregnant women or people on sleep medication should not work for Scratch Records. Consult your doctor immediately if any erection caused by working at Scratch Records lasts longer than four hours.

People keep turning up anyway, and the business keeps chewing them up and spitting them out as quivering, shameful lumps of masticated human being, but every so often somebody makes it through the gauntlet of endless ironic verbal abuse and abrupt rap-off ambushes and the constant barrages of emails on the internal network containing _Complacency_ BSDM slash fics disguised as important memos or urgent contracts, and manages to survive long enough to become a valuable, trusted employee.

Kaz is one of these, and the job of keeping you on time for meetings and signings and concerts and translating your carefully worded decrees into language that can be comprehended by ordinary human beings and actually enacted by the label (not to mention publically apologizing to all the people you offend before breakfast) has probably taken twenty years off his life, but he hasn't quit yet.

When you said that you had to skip out on the conference he threw up his hands and asked what you expected him to tell the people from Napalm Records and you said you really didn't have any Earthly goddamn idea, that was his job, not yours, but you had to go home to your wife, and for once you didn't feel like leaving him trying to figure out if you were just being a douchebag and playing hooky to go fly Rose off to some exotic location and smother her in kisses and inspirational European vistas, so you actually took off your shades and told him straight up that you had to leave to handle the most important thing you'd ever had to do.

You put a little of what Rose would call 'gravitas' into that, throwing away for a single sentence the careful, elaborate scaffolding of pop culture and Striderian stoicism and nonsensical bullshit you've spent the last thirty years building a mortal life and a human identity on top of, and Kaz doesn't know that he's talking to the god of time but he gets the full force of what is essentially one of the Ten Commandments right in the face, and he swallows, real hard, and nods.

You really shouldn't have done that, but there really is no way he would have taken you seriously otherwise, you've spent so long teaching people that nothing you say can ever be taken seriously and how to penetrate your dozens of layers of carefully assembled absurdities that when you actually need someone to just listen to you about something real you have to pull rank and leverage your position as one of the patron deities of the universe.

Dave Strider, Fully Functional Human Being, why yes this certificate of authenticity is real, why do you ask, why no it wasn't drawn up in crayon and sealed with a sticker I whipped up in Paint in fifteen minutes, that would be stupid, checking in.

 

* * *

 

You're getting on in years, even for gods. Some of you let it show more than others. English looks like an old man, but you came to understand very quickly that he was already an elderly Southern gentleman when he was sixteen, so that's just his body growing into a proper vessel for his spirit. Bro never really stopped aging but his body is sprinter-fit, so that at this point he's a whip-thin assembly of bones and stringy muscle and slowly graying stubble, like an old kung fu master. John's face is covered in wrinkles and his hair is silver-black and thinning, but you've never been able to think of him as 'old'.

It's a perk, is what it is, though some of the others turned it down. You finished the quest, you won the war, you slew the cueball-eyed peglegged dragon, now you get to be gods and run the world, and living forever comes with the package.

You've never been sure what you think of that. As far as you're concerned the whole point of going through all that bullshit was to put things back to the way they were supposed to be. You just wanted to sit down and live the life you were supposed to live, before the game came and stole it away from you all.

Rose didn't agree.

"We _aren't_ the same people we were, Dave." That was what she'd said to you, thirty-two years ago, on the balcony outside you and John's place, after you broke it off with Terezi and were trying to figure out what the fuck to do with your life. "We cannot pretend that our experiences in the game meant nothing."

"Nobody's sayin' that." you'd replied. "Hey, look how far fuckin' divorced that is from what I'm sayin'. What I'm sayin' has moved halfway across the country and gotten remarried to a twenty-year-old coed and is payin' ten thousand bucks a year in child support to a wife he wasn't ever really in love with to what that is."

She'd raised her eyebrows in that skepticadorable little way that's totally unique to her, and asked you if you were drunk.

You'd answered yes, but that had no effect at all on your ability to spin elaborate and ridiculous metaphors at a moment's notice. She'd nodded indulgently, and remarked at some length about your prowess at upholding your Armor of Irony, your emotional shield against everyone else in the world. "As long as you maintain that defensive bulwark," she'd said, "no one will ever be able to get close to you, and your crippling personal issues will go permanently unresolved! A cunning and ingenious plan if I have ever seen one, a stratagem that could only have been concocted by a Strider."

She'd said it with a completely straight face, never taking her eyes from yours. You've only known a few people, even amongst your friends, who can meet the blank gaze of your shades, but Rose looked you in the eyes right through them and you were the one that looked away first, because you knew she was right.

She even made a little fist-pump of triumph at the end.

You're pretty sure that was the moment you fell in love with her, though it took you a long time to realize it. In three sentences, she summoned up fires of a heat and sickness easily on par, or maybe even surpassing, anything you and Terezi had ever unleashed on anyone, and then _obliterated_ you with them. It takes a special kind of person to wield sarcasm as a syringe instead of a flamethrower, to deliver a shot of pure undiluted truth right into the carotid.

While you were reeling from the unbearable psychological impact of her onslaught, she'd carried on; "Denying the nature of our existence may be temporarily comforting to you, but it is ultimately pointless." You hadn't heard her talk like this in a long time, and it was scaring you a little bit, but you couldn't not listen because you both knew you needed to hear it, and she pinned you to the spot with those violet eyes like an imp being speared on her needles and said "We are gods, Dave."

"If we wish, we can live mortal lives, but we are shards of cosmic power sheathed in human skin. That is the nature of the ultimate reward. Pretending that what we did to earn this victory did not occur will not drown out the report of time's jackbooted heels marching into eternity in your mind."

She'd leaned on the railing of the balcony, looking out into the glittering Chicago night, and said, "Personally, I am not so eager to forget, or to shield my eyes against the visions I see in the light."

She'd gazed up into the sky, the breeze catching her golden hair, her eyes sparkling in the neon glow of the skyline, and you'd noticed for the first time that Lalonde had grown up and filled out.

You'd barely seen her in those first five years, she was busy running around and geeking out over a whole new universe's worth of occult minutia and using her powers to lift up the paneling on the walls of reality and shine a light inside to figure out how it all worked, while you were laying down jams in nightclubs and getting drunk and letting Terezi fuck you into a stupor every night and just generally being a useless piece of shit all day, because that was what you would have done if nothing had ever happened, minus maybe the insatiable alien girlfriend. The last time you'd seen Rose, she was only a little bit beyond that gangly teenage girl sitting politely at tables undressing Kanaya with her eyes, struggling with alcoholism at fifteen and fumbling with the ignition key of her own sexuality. John was always your doofus of a baby bro and Jade was always your little sister from another mister, but Rose was a contradiction from the first time you spoke to her - say nothing of when you all got into the game and you found out what she really looked like. The only person you'd ever met who wasn't a Strider who could go punch for punch with you in the ring of sarcasm, the only person who could cut through all your bullshit with a single stroke but chose not to because she thought it was funny, and because she was your friend; a precious little package of destructive sorcerous energy wrapped up in seventy pounds soaking wet of adorable blonde teenager who typed like a woman three times her age, sharp as Bro's sword and twice as ruthless.

And she loved ponies and she missed her dead cat and she wore pink and purple hand-knitted scarves and wanted so bad to believe in magic you never had the heart to even make fun of her about it, really.

And then she was standing there outside your apartment, and her stupid gothy lipstick highlighted her full, round mouth and her purple blouse and long dark skirt hugged a set of tight, sleek curves that hadn't been there before and she was smiling up at the stars like a fucking princess rescued from a tower and, like a stupid male human man, you'd thought _Jesus Christmas, Rose got hot._

_No, hot ain't the right word, more like..._

_...beautiful._

That wasn't ever a word you'd ever been able to use to describe Terezi, no matter how much you'd wanted her and still kind of did. You'd thanked Jane that Rose wasn't the Seer of Mind, so she couldn't hear you thinking it.

"What all is it you see in the light, then, Lalonde?" you'd asked, in an attempt to cover your imminent drunken boner.

She'd looked back at you, knowingly. "I see that we have our whole lives ahead of us, Dave."

You realize you're smiling.

She taught you that; to appreciate that in the middle of the game ripping the guts out of your life and sticking them all back in wrong, you saw a few incredible, beautiful things in between. She showed you that magic is real.

She taught you to be less frugal with your smiles.

Rose would admit readily that she was a pretty god-awful Seer during the game. But one of the things you came to understand later is that after the game is over, you don't stop being what it made you. You think that maybe you can learn something from what the game decides you are - knight, seer, prince, rogue - not about who you are, but about who you're going to be later, if you survive. You're a Knight, and you protect your friends. Being a Knight means whatever it needs to mean. You give them a place to crash, you toss a little money their way when they're having a tough time, you stand up for them when someone is giving them shit, you invite them over to get smashed and have a deeply therapeutic drunken discussion after a bad breakup. It's nothing to do with being a god. Anyone can be a Knight. Knighthood ain't nothin' but a state of mind.

Rose is a Seer, and you don't think that really means seeing things, like she used to think. You're pretty sure it's about helping others see things.

You taught one another to live your lives; you taught her to step back, to pay attention to the grimy, shitty, fucked up, gorgeous world you made and all the stupid, shitty, fucked up, wonderful people that live in it, to see the trees for the forest. She helped you lean in close and look at yourself, to look at the person you were instead of the person you wished you still were, and to live with the spark of divinity ticking in your heart.

She taught you to see the light.

She didn't want to grow old. She doesn't think of it as vain, and neither do you. She just figures eternal youth is a small reward to claim for enabling the existence of the world as you know it. She doesn't overdo it (not that you all really can overdo it, the choice you made), she just ages slower, and it doesn't show like it does on Bro or John, you and her just got thinner and more weathered and slowly greyer, so everyone just thinks you're in fantastic shape for an asshole who spent as much of his life as he did partying and that you're an unfathomably lucky son of a bitch who landed a beautiful, smart girl who turned into a silver vixen.

You know that of the two of you, she considers herself the lucky one, which to you is a cosmic mystery of unfathomable scale and impenetrable depths.

She makes the perfect counterpoint to you in a lot of ways. You carry yourselves very differently, but you both do it for the same reasons. You both elevate yourselves above the crowd, you both wear auras that set you apart like invisible, brightly-colored cloaks. You _stroll_ down the street, you think that's the word for it, your hands curled into loose fists, your arms swinging at your sides like pendulums hung by a lazy torturer, your head nodding to a beat that only you can hear. Rose doesn't need to put on a show, she just walks calmly through life, smiling politely at everyone and everything she meets, her stride measured and perfect like the ticking of a watchmaker's masterwork, you've listened to it and it's downright unnerving, LOHAC could have set itself by the rhythm of Rose's steps. You plunge into the world, letting it know with every exaggeratedly restrained movement that you don't play by its rules, that it can't ever tie you down, while Rose holds herself above it on a tower of knowledge and a vocabulary the size of the Soviet Union. You stand apart together, two different complementary colors of cool, two equally ill beats in the same mix, two great tastes that taste great together.

In over three decades with her you can count the number of times you've seen her get thrown on the fingers of your sword hand. When the world ended, you and John scrabbled around like idiots chopping up imps and racking up treasure while Rose got down to business and started figuring out how to win. When it turned out winning was impossible, that someone behind the curtains had rigged the dice before you even started, she just frowned and started burning the house down. When a slimy Lovecraftian monstrosity from the outer dark almost broke her over a demon's sword and then apologized by telling her to go dig the cancer out of a celestial body and use it to blow up the greatest power source in paradox space, she'd said 'lock and load.'

When you told her what really happened the night you and Terezi were finished, she listened with a scholar's patience and made you a cup of tea and gave you an expensive hanky to ruin with your sobs. When you crashed the launch party for her first book she sat you down and read to you and made a fucking convert out of you. When you finally decided to tie the knot, she just raised her eyebrows and started critiquing your proposition's grammar in front of a room full of both your friends - though you at least saw her wiping her eyes after she said yes.

So when you get home, after almost two solid days and nights of retracing your steps by train and road, to the lakeside two-story that you share, what you find unnerves the hell out of you.

Lavender car in the gravel drive of your lakeside house, tank still full. First floor is deserted, all the lights turned off, kitchen hasn't been used in a couple days at least, pile of takeout cartons on the counter. Your stomach starts filling up with lead. How long had she known about this before she messaged you?

You call her name, and instead of coming to meet you she waits a few seconds and then pings your shades.

 

TT: Mr. Strider.  
TT: I require three things from you.  
TT: First, a hot cup of Lapsang Suchong. I want it to be scalding, Dave. Do you need to look that word up? It means hotter than hot. I want this tea to burn at least one layer of skin off of the inside of my mouth when I drink it. If an assassin were to cut open my stomach after I drink this tea, I want him to suffer third degree burns from the steam escaping my corpse.  
TT: Second, I want a meal. An actual, genuine, homecooked meal, one that was not conceived of in the originational sense by a penniless Chinese labourer at the dawn of the last century, and that in the modern, operative sense was not ejaculated from a deep fryer and seasoned with the output of the manager's wife's herb garden. You are going to make me a cacciatore, Dave, and it is going to be _delicious_.  
TT: Third, once you have completed these tasks, and I have left in my wake only a smoking, irradiated scorch mark where once a cup of tea and a dish of braised chicken stood, you are going to disrobe, and you are going to fuck me senseless, because I am not at all certain how much more lucidity I can stand tonight before my brain begins consuming itself.  
TG: rose  
TG: have you been at the sauce  
TT: No.  
TG: i dont buy it  
TG: im coming up

 

When you reach your bedroom, she's lying on the bed in a pale purple shift and a knitted jacket, staring up at the ceiling.

You take off your shoes and sit down on the bed next to her. "Rose. Rose, sit up and look at me."

"Leave me alone, Dave. I am hungry, and exhausted beyond rational thought."

"Yeah and whose fault is that? Doesn't look like mine, I saw the takeout all over the fuckin' place, if you were hungry you shoulda gone out, you know that shit evaporates in your stomach."

"I could not go out. I had work to do."

The lead's unpleasant drip into your stomach intensifies. "Rose." You turn to look at her face, but she aims it away from you. "How long have you known?"

"...four days." she answers, after a moment.

"So you sat in here, livin' on fuckin' takeout, all cooped up here goin' fuckin' crazy, runnin' those numbers for three fuckin' days, tryin' to find us a way outta this."

"...yes."

"Jesus fuckin' shit, Rose, why?"        

"...it's my duty." she says, after a moment. Her voice is small and petty.

"Jane, give me fucking strength!" You shout at the empty air. "It ain't your job anymore, Rose, it's over!"

"It is not over, you idiot. It never truly ended. We are only a serpent consuming its own tail until the day the multiverse finally gutters out and dies, and you were, all of you, fools to believe otherwise."

"Now you sound like Terezi, which makes sense I guess but it's still scarin' me, so could you stop?"

She looks at you at last, rolling her beautiful head over on the sheets. "What do you mean?"

"I just got offline with her, in the car, a couple hours ago. She said the same thing. World was always gonna end, just like the last one, Skaia keeps turnin' like normal. She's not even surprised. Almost sounded excited."

Rose gives a mild little sigh. "She always was quite determinedly deranged, even for an Alternian. But in this case, she is quite right."

"So, what, this a Seer thing? You two have been keepin' this shit in your back pockets, waitin' for the most dramatic possible moment to bust it out?"

“No, it is not a ‘Seer thing’. It is a ‘person with any basic knowledge of the mechanics of paradox space as defined by the game thing’, a club which includes you amongst its membership, which does not appear to be the most elite of ranks considering that it includes both you and the demonstrably certifiable Miss Pyrope. Your brother is not a Seer, and I am quite sure that he arrived at this possibility through simple logic long ago.”

She is lecturing you. This is a good thing. “If you’re tryin’ to shame me, Rosie, it ain’t workin’. I ain’t ever gonna be ashamed of Bro bein’ smarter than me.”

She bristles, finally sitting up on the bed. “Do _not_ call me Rosie.”

This is all perfectly according to plan. Anyone who could actually stay mad at you would have stopped associating with you after maybe two weeks, three tops - Rose has been married to you for over twenty years, so you are pretty sure you are in the clear, and a Rose who is pissed off at you is a Rose that is not brooding and thinking too hard.

This, at least, is the theory. “So if you all have known this was comin’ for however long, why’d you wait till it was right here lightin’ up your radar to tell any of us about it?”

“It has ever been the domain of the Seer to keep the darkest secrets. To bear the burden of knowledge, and make the unpalatable, but necessary decision of how much of that weight to share with their comrades. Knowledge may, in the final evaluation, equate to power, but-"

“Womp womp womp."

She stares at you.

"Womp womp womp, wompwompwomp womp womp, womp wompwomp womp womp. That's what you sound like when you start spinnin' bullshit, I ever tell you that? You sound like the grown-ups from Charlie Brown. And that's all I hear right now, a big ol' Peanuts trumpet spewing cow patties all over the floor, they're fuckin' everywhere, Rose, and now you gotta clean 'em up, bleach the carpet, powerwash the floor, disinfect the whole room, hang those fuckin' citrus scent dongles all over the place, 'cause I sure as shit ain't doin' it - and I swear to God Rose if you buy pine fresh I will be forced to draw steel on your perfect ass. What the fuck are you even talkin' about, are you even listenin' to yourself? If you and TZ are right it's inevitable, right, rocks fall, everyone dies, the end! So why in Jane’s celestial fuckin’ unmentionables drawer have you been sittin’ in here runnin’ these fuckin’ numbers for _three days_?”

 “Because it **_hurts_** ,” the words tear free of her throat, she sounds like someone is strangling her. "I have watched them die, Dave, so many times, all those lives snuffed out in a handful of hours like so many unfinished cigarettes..."

It’s more than you can bear and you move next to her on the bed and pull her close, pressing her to you, her back against your chest as she gasps, "I can see the whole universe, and it is so beautiful, nine billion people's fates, nine billion golden strands, dividing and subdividing into infinity, unlimited potential, there are so many possible universes we could live in, and every instant I am witness to nine billion miracles as each of them makes a decision and selects this one, single universe from all the others, the world glows golden and radiant in my eyes, and then it all goes **_dark_** ,”

She's not actually crying but she's shuddering and breathing in little spikes, these things she knows are too heavy and she's been sitting here in your house, all alone, trying to carry them by herself, and you have to help her bear them, and you hold her and let her get it out, and slowly she subsides.

She's not okay yet but she feels better, like some evil spirit has just been exorcised and it's all over but the crying and the therapy. She relaxes against you, the back of her head slotted into the hollow of your neck, her crown flush with the bottom of your chin. She fits there perfectly, like a puzzle piece, shaking and hiccuping.

“Which Dave y’need tonight?" you ask. "Shades on, or off?”

She hiccups again. “Off, would be nice.”

This is a long-understood signal between the two of you. Dave with Shades On is Dave Strider, the terror of talk shows and political blogs the world over, the Texan ninja master who can steal the dignity from any individual or situation, no matter how serious or significant, the man who on Judgement Day would keep rapping until the world went to God's vengeance laughing, who would be the last one dancing as the party burned down. He is not exactly a savoury character, but he can keep anyone's spirits up. Dave with Shades Off is a little-known, mythical figure, often discussed in the same breath as Bigfoot or Area 51 in poorly-lit rooms lined with maps riddled with tacks color-coded by type of Dave with Shades Off sighting. Legend claims that he spent years in a mountaintop Egbertian monastery, learning the ancient, arcane combat operandi so traditionally incomprehensible to Striders; 'Take Seriously', 'Discuss Frankly', 'Define Without Resorting To Ten-minute Self-Referential Ironic Tangent'. He shows himself very rarely, and can only be reliably summoned by one person.

You take off your shades and set them down on the nightstand, and for some ten minutes the two of you sit there, listening to one another breathe.

“You alright?”

“As I can be." Her voice is calm, now, but you can feel the tremor in her chest when she speaks. "I didn't ... I didn't know how hard it would be. I didn't expect it to happen so soon.”

“Noticed that, didja?" you mutter. "Thought we were supposed to be immortal and all we get is one shitty lifetime?”

“Perhaps there is a reason, as there was a reason for the others to arrive when they did after the Scratch. Perhaps their reckoning must occur when it does, or there is no hope for the new session.”

You grunt noncommittally.

“Did we make the wrong choice?” you ask. “Could we have stopped this, if we’d gone with Jane?”

She laughs softly, without any humor. “No.”

You sit there for another five minutes, contemplating this, and then gently ease her off of your lap. She goes as soon as you move, the signals of one another's body language more or less telepathic.

“I’ll put that dinner on.” you say, and step out of the bedroom. She follows you, without a word, padding down the stairs in your wake.

You almost wish she wouldn't. You wish she would sit up there on the bed, your fair lady in lavender, resting her head and letting you wait on her. You want to step into that bedroom bearing chicken in red wine on a silver dish, and feed it to her one bite at a time with a fork that you polish meticulously in between mouthfuls. You want to dab at her mouth with a hoity-toity embroidered cloth napkin and fluff the pillow under her head and lie there next to her until she falls asleep and make sure nothing and no one can ever make her hurt again.

You get thoughts like that from time to time, but you know full well that Rose would throw you out on the front porch if you tried. She needs you now, but as delicate as she looks there's no glass under those silks and wool, only sinew and tempered Damascus steel. She won't break, not unless you handle her with kid gloves and let her fester in the dark places of that huge, cavernous brain. That's when she starts to rust, and that's what'll break her in the end.

Tomorrow you'll put your shades back on, and start sharpening her again. But tonight, what she needs from you is just for you to be there.

She breaks out her needles as you start taking down ingredients. She's using iridescent thread, the mystically charged stuff that she spins herself, working it into nightmarishly complex patterns. You understand that they have occult significance - ordinary steel needles used as stand-ins for wands, making arrangements that mirror diagrams of sorceries. It's unspeakably difficult - sometimes just watching her do it makes you want to hurl - requires the most intense concentration and skill, hones the mind, focuses the hand-eye coordination. Tai chi for witches. Her needles go _tak, tak-tak tak, tak-tak_ like clockwork, and before long you've attuned to the beat and have started rapping inside your head while the chicken sizzles in the olive oil.

_can you hear it, like a spirit,_  
 _like footsteps in the attic, hey son, do you fear it,_  
 _knock-knock-knock knock-knock-knock_  
 _at my chamber door, quoth the raven, nevermotherfuckingmore_  
 _it's the doomsday clock of the universe,_  
 _get the wire cutters, son, it's getting worse_  
 _i can feel it in all of my bones at the same time_  
 _so cut the red wire, son, oh too late i can see the end of the line_  
 _so get down on your hands and your knees,_  
 _say goodbye to the sun and the breeze,_  
 _the sky, alight, with contemptuous ease_  
 _will erase our whole chalkboard, be quiet, class, please_  
 _school's out for the rest of eternity, with the minor exception of these;_  
 _hope you studied the universe, kids, 'cause there will be a quiz,_  
 _everyone, everything that could ever have lived_  
 _and it counts for one hundred percent of your grade..._

_Those poor fuckin' kids_ , you think. _Who's it gonna be this time, carrying the banner into that mindfuck with no one to tell them where to plant it?_

 _We're gonna tell them,_ you decide. _It's not gonna be like last time_.

Not tonight, though. Tonight is for depressing raps and chicken in Sangiovese. Tonight is for Rose.

You set a timer and for a few minutes you just lean against the counter, watching Rose's alarmingly dexterous fingers work. These are the same fingers that can type sentences comprised almost exclusively of five-syllable words, with perfect grammar and capitalization, faster than you can type stream-of-consciousness messages in all lowercase.

She doesn't acknowledge you, not outwardly anyway, but she knows you're there, and you know she knows.

Fuck you, you missed this, running around wheeling and dealing and plugging records. Maybe you haven't been home so much because you thought you had eternity.

You really have been an idiot. You need to get Karkat in here, you haven't seen him in a while either and he's really the only one on the planet qualified to express how much of a tool you've been.

You'd better start rounding people up.

           

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG]   began pestering timaeusTechnologies [TT] at 7:29 --

TG: hey bro  
TG: we gotta talk man  
TG: dunno if you already know seeing as you apparently have cylon spies in every government and company on the planet or something  
TG: but you gotta take time out of your busy schedule of accelerating us towards the singularity or synthesizing the fourth primary flavor of ice cream or whatever it is you do and get to chicago  
TG: some serious shits going on that affects everyone  
TG: we gotta have everyone for this  
TG: everyone who played the game  
TG: or we can meet in one of your secret doomsday labs  
TG: but its nice here this time of year  
TG: bro?  
TG: bro answer me man  
   
You work your jaw. You do not need this from him right now.  
   
TG: fucking a bro  
TG: im not doing a great job of showing it but this is actually serious  
TG: its real  
TG: the ends coming  
TG: i know it didnt mean too much to you because you basically lived on waterworld alone with cal and rox and some unspeakably rad robots  
TG: and when the end came it meant you got to do kickflips off a bunch of evil robot faces and then finally get revenge on the queen fish that youd been planning for like your whole life  
TG: but it kinda sucked for us  
TG: we actually have lives here bro  
TG: even you  
TG: i know you like pretending youre this ancient robot building hermit who sits at the top of a skyscraper and never does anything but meditate on unimaginable futures  
TG: like if david sarif was a zen master  
TG: but you give just as much of a shit as the rest of us  
TG: oh for fucks sake its not like youre ever more than two feet away from a computer at any given time  
TG: your fucking retinas are probably hd screens at this point  
TG: dirk strider please use your incredible robo-eyes to project the big game onto the wall at my cookout this weekend  
TG: bro answer me  
TG: bro pull your arm out of the cyberurethra of whatever robot abomination youre building now and answer me  
TG: bro  
   
\-- timaeusTechnologies [TT] has disconnected at 7:32 --

Rose's needles don't stop clicking, but as you clear the chat window you see that she's looking up at you, eyebrow raised. You just shake your head. "Bro being Bro."

She clearly wants to know more, but she's tired and you turn away to check the chicken.

 

* * *

 

She eats her dinner like a mincing machine. The knife and fork shred the meat into miniscule, bite-size pieces, each of which vanishes down her throat in the space of a second. In a downright alarming amount of time there is only a thin residue of oil and veggie seeds remaining on the plate. On a better night you would accuse her of not appreciating your cooking.

You leave the dishes for later and lead her back up to the bedroom, where she sits on the bed and sips the requested ridiculously fancy tea while you take a shower.

When you get out and towel yourself off you can hear her knitting again, and as you step out of the bedroom she's set the needles down and is holding up the finished product, and it catches the very last rays of the sun as it sets over the lake, and your breath catches in your throat as she spreads a web of spun sunbeams between her hands, glittering and miraculous. She hangs them around your house and the houses of your friends like dreamcatchers.

"Dave?" There's a strange catch in her voice.

"Rose?"

 As she puts the lacework down she turns her head towards you. Her face is tight and drawn.

"'One shitty lifetime?'" she says, quietly.

You swallow, hard.

"Was it so shitty?"

 You cross the room and climb onto the bed.

 "Shitty," you say, in a low voice, "is the last word in this whole fuckin' universe I would ever use to describe this lifetime."

You're putting your arms around her again, whispering, "Can you find it in your shriveled, icy heart to forgive a Strider?" and as you bend down to kiss her she turns her head to meet you and her lips catch yours. Your kiss is gentle, intended as a comfort, but hers is hungry, and she gathers up her lower body and turns it around so she's sitting sideways on your lap. She licks the outside of your lips, she tastes like red wine and sharp peppers but she always smells like fresh linen and the air after a rainstorm, and you smile against her for a few seconds, savoring it, savoring her.

Then your hands slide down over her breasts, and you start to kiss your way down her neck, until you both fall sideways onto the bed. She frees her hands and starts pulling off her shift.

 

* * *

 

 It doesn't take you both long to fall asleep afterwards. She hasn't had a decent night's rest in four days and you just spent almost two on the road, so you both waste no time passing out.

When you open your eyes she's curled up against you, still asleep, her body fit neatly into the curve of yours. You lie there for a few minutes, watching her breathe and looking at her silver-blonde hair and the pale outline of her neck.

Eventually you swing yourself out of bed, moving with precision so as not to wake her up. You have shit to do. You have to call everyone else, and you have to figure what the fuck you're going to do about Jade. You'll call John first, he'll know what's what, he's better at people than you are.

You pause in the kitchen with your first cup of coffee, ("World's #1 Asshole" mug) looking out the window at the sunrise, and think for a moment about calling upstairs for advice.

No, you decide after a moment. Talking to her is always so ... awkward, for lack of a better word. Things aren't that bad yet. If John or Bro want to ring her up, they're welcome to.

You pester Bro one more time, but the dickbag still isn't answering. You pick up the phone and try calling, too, but that doesn't work either.

No receptionist, either, just a very sophisticated answering machine.

...weird.

You dial John's number as you step into the front room and turn on the TV. May as well see what's going on in the world in its last days.

"Hello?" John answers on the second ring.

The phone falls from your slackened hand. Maybe it's that that draws Rose out of bed, or maybe it's John shouting into the phone, asking what's happened, what's wrong, or maybe it's the sound that results when you forget about your knightly strength for a long few seconds and splinter the armrests of the chair you collapse into.

She finds you facing the TV, staring at the news, watching the pandemonium unfold as an armada of emergency vehicles surround the base of a familiar corporate tower, smoke pouring from its upper levels.

The camera keeps switching - there are obviously multiple choppers on the scene by now. There's more smoke rising from the complex that surrounds the tower. The R&D labs are ablaze. Fire engines mount a valiant defense at the complex perimeter, turning foam cannons on the flames.

"Dave." Rose says. You feel her hand on your arm, and the steel in her voice. "He is fine. He must be. He is a god, just like the rest of us."

You nod, automatically, and continue to gape at the news as some cameraman wins the fucking Pulitzer.

The cameras stop jumping, zooming in and evening out, caressing the image lovingly with their lenses, because the motherfuckers pulling the switches know exactly how good this is, you want to find them all and rip their spines out.

It's the logo. The giant goddamn neon sign pinned over the front doors of the tower that's always lit up bright orange. It's lying on the pavement in front of the building, cracked, sparking, blown messily from its place of honor by some traumatic explosive force.

 **TT**.

Even Rose goes silent.

"...initial reports say that casualties were minimal, due mainly to Timaeus's famously extensive use of automated staff and security, but at least nine people have been confirmed dead and another fourteen are missing, including the company's president and founder, Dirk Strider..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> auuuuugh mistakes everywhere because i lost half of this to a laptop battery dying and had to rewrite it from memory
> 
> So there are tense errors and continuity snags left over from an earlier version EVERYWHERE, I think I've found and fixed most of them now so if you read this right after it went up I recommend you read it again!


End file.
